@kazsrm67 / kazsrm67.tumblr.com
Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader || (past Frenchie x F. Reader)
Request: Soldier Boy finding out you had something with Frenchie, years before meeting him.
Word Count: 1K
Tags/Warnings: Jealousy lol (With a hint of spice.~)
He doesn't care.
Because he doesn't care...
👏👏👏👏👏👏
Hi! I was wondering if you could write an angst fic taking place in the late 60s where Ben (Soldier Boy) is in an arranged marriage with the reader, but the reader does love him? Also, they’re much younger than he is (obviously an adult though, just a young one). This is oddly specific ig but I have an OC based around this concept 😭❤️
Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Reader
Word count: 1,709
Summary: There were certain things about the supe she didn't want to accept, they were surprisingly two things love about him.
Warnings: Swearing, angst, implied smut (not with reader), implied drug use
A/N: I wrote this a while ago and just forgot to post it, but hopefully it's what you were hoping for! Also I was intending for this to be a drabble, but here we are at 1700 words lol This is unbetad, so I'm sorry for any errors I've missed.
It was easy to love his exterior personality, the parts of himself that he showed to the public. The parts of himself that Vought manufactured. The charm, the wit, the subtle cockiness, the smirk, the heroic sacrifices he had made over the decades in each war that occurred, the roughness of his voice laced with the rasp of cigarettes and bourbon. It was easy to love him from afar for many years, knowing that was all it would be. Just a silly admiration for an American hero, the world’s greatest supe. What she felt was real but fleeting, something she knew she’d get over whenever she decided that it was immature and she needed a reality check.
Oof that was soo good. . . It hurt but it was good!
Paring: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader
Summary: You’re not a supe. You’re breakable. Soldier Boy sometimes forgets that.
AN: A more reformed Soldier Boy (AU post-season 3) has to come to terms with his strength.
Word Count: 1,000 Warnings: M Rating (18+ only!) for nudity. Also language and fluff.
“What the fuck is this?” he asks.
You’re still half-asleep, because Ben had been absently stroking a thumb across your back. He sits up against the headboard of the bed you so often share, already drinking a cup of coffee. He looks damn-near domestic…
Until he actually looked down at the bruises peeking out at him from beneath the sheets. He sets down his mug and pushes the sheets down.
He then stares at the marks that litter your back, waist, hips, and ass. You shoot him an annoyed look at being bared so early in the morning.
“What’re you doing?” you ask.
He manhandles you just firmly enough to turn you over so he can see your face—out from where it had been buried in your pillow. Despite yourself, you greet his annoyingly handsome face. It's covered with neatly trimmed stubble, and with the back of your hand you touch his cheek in affection. He pushes it away.
“You got something to tell me?” he says, more of a demand than a question. “Answer me. What the fuck happened here?”
He gestures at a prominent dark-bluish mark on the inside of your thigh. You sigh and give him a patient look (and that is an effort in itself).
“Nothing,” you reply. A cheeky smile starts to play at your lips, but Ben’s brows furrow in irritation. He knows you’re messing with him, and he doesn’t appreciate it.
“You work at a damn desk. Unless you’re getting nailed by the mail guy—”
“Get fucking serious, Ben.” You dismiss that with a roll of your eyes. He tilts his head at you. His mouth works, and his gaze becomes suspicious. But you notice an edge of worry behind his eyes.
Has someone hurt you? Threatened you?
It hasn’t been the first time the latter had happened. Even though Soldier Boy was officially pardoned and now works as a contracted ally with Supe Affairs, he still has plenty of hated enemies. It doesn’t help that you also work in the thick of it—running surveillance for the team.
So you decide to put him out of his misery.
“You really don’t remember?” you ask wryly.
At Ben’s raised brow, your lips quirk at the corner.
“You don’t remember two days ago? When you met me at my office for lunch, which consisted of you rudely sweeping all my hard work to the floor and ultimately breaking my new desk?”
Realization lights up Ben’s face, and his mouth edges into a smirk.
“We were breaking it in,” he corrects you.
Good times, he thinks, before another, less fun realization hits him: his hands are responsible for the patchwork quilt of bruises that litter your skin.
And he remembers, yet again, that he has the very real capacity to hurt you.
You notice how he takes pains to be gentle, slowly brushing the back of his hand across your thigh.
“It’s not the first time,” you remind him.
“It could be the last,” he reminds you. Your face doesn’t change.
You won’t take compound V. Not for him. Not for anyone.
But with shit like this, he wonders why you stay with him.
“It’s good for you to remember your own strength,” you say, only half-teasing. He turns away from you.
Ben grumbles, “You wanna gamble with your fucking life, that’s up to you.”
You shake your head.
“Don’t do that.” You lean on his shoulder from behind and caress his back—smooth of any scars. You can’t help but prod at him again. “Real men don’t sulk.”
He shoots you a look over his shoulder. You giggle at his green-eyed annoyance.
The truth is, you make it difficult for him not to care. Not to be a softer man.
He fucking hates soft.
But…just for you, he could do it. Just a little.
He closes his hand over yours, which rests on his chest.
“Sorry,” he says. His voice is deep and holds the weight of his sincerity. That one word also encompasses how much progress his relationship with you has made.
Instead of answering, you kiss his shoulder, the back of his neck. He turns around and strokes your cheek, knowing from your eyes that you don’t hold anything against him.
“You don’t have to treat me like a porcelain doll, but I don’t need to look like a checkerboard either,” you tease.
Ben rolls his eyes and slides his arms under you, pulling your naked body onto his bare chest and making you squeal. You meet his eyes as his hand soothes down your back.
“How about this,” he says. “Come up with a safe word.”
You laugh. “We already have one.”
“That’s for other shit,” Ben says, grinning. “Let’s have one just for this. Whenever you wanna remind me to tone it down.”
His hands are careful when they grasp a non-aching portion of your hips. You look down on him fondly, and you consider his suggestion.
“Hmm…pineapples,” you decide. It’s the first obnoxious thing that comes to mind.
“No,” he says. “Veto.”
“What? You can’t veto. It’s my safe word.”
“I’m not gonna be balls deep inside you hearing pineapples in my ear.”
You shake your head at your boyfriend and frame his face with your hands, squeezing his head in exasperation.
“Fine. How about…checkers,” you suggest. A teasing smile comes to your face, even if it pulls his lips into a frown. “So you remember we had this conversation.”
You can tell he doesn’t entirely like it, but he nods in agreement.
“Good. Now, care to join me for a bath?” you ask. Ben is reluctant; he knows you’re going to pour in a shit ton of frilly-smelling soap and bath salts that feel uncomfortable to sit on. But he’s open to the bath time shenanigans that usually ensue.
“I am still a bit sore,” you say, giving him an imploring look. He levels you with a knowing frown. Using his guilt against him is a dirty tactic, and you always employ it well to your advantage.
“Fine. But we’re using regular fucking soap,” he says. You smile and press a lingering kiss to his lips.
But you both know that the second his back is turned, you’re going to dump in your lavender-scented bath bubbles anyway.
AN: Literally found the sketch of this randomly in my files and decided to put it out here. Let me know what you think!
Oh gosh this was perfect! I needed some Soldier Boy trying to be soft.... i didn't know I did but hey. . .
I'll fight him. Come at me, Jensen!
